


Hand of the Queen

by Anonymous



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Aloth meets Thaos, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Leaden Key, M/M, One Shot, Power Imbalance, Religious Cults, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As a Leaden Key initiate, Aloth is accused of blasphemy, and awaits punishment in a dungeon cell.
Relationships: Thaos ix Arkannon/Aloth Corfiser
Kudos: 4
Collections: Anonymous





	Hand of the Queen

One moment Aloth was sitting among his nameless peers, stuffed in a pew in the back row, his head bowed in quiet contemplation, listening to the grandmaster give a lofty sermon on the dangers of animancy. The next he was being dragged out of the candlelit hall by a pair of hulking, armored guards, Iselmyr’s shrill voice ringing in his ears.

Aloth didn’t know what the damnable woman had said, only that it must’ve been fairly provocative to warrant such a response. He didn’t struggle as he was marched deeper into the catacombs, consigned to whatever dismal fate awaited him at the end of the long, narrow corridor, silently cursing his bad luck. 

A cell awaited him.

He stumbled, weak at the knees, as he was roughly shoved over the dark threshold, throwing out a hand to steady himself against the crumbling stone wall. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling his bones. When the door creaked opened some hours later, he was greeted by the unmistakable silhouette of the grandmaster, who stood in place for a moment, his arms rigid at his sides.

“I could have you whipped for such blasphemy,” the man said by way of greeting, ducking his head as he stepped beneath the archway. There was a soft rustle of silk as he reared up to his full height, the jeweled clasp of his ceremonial robe glittering in dim light. The wings of his headdress scraped the low ceiling, raining dust on his broad shoulders.

Aloth stared before lowering his gaze, reaching blindly for his mask, which he had foolishly tossed aside. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his long dark hair matted to his forehead, cheeks stained with dried tears. He’d never spoken to the grandmaster before, and these were his first words. He didn’t know what else to say. How else to explain himself.

He shrank back against the wall, shivering beneath the grandmaster’s icy stare. In the back of his mind, he felt Iselmyr beginning to stir. Aloth grit his teeth. That insufferable woman had already caused him enough trouble for one day.

“Ah,” the grandmaster said after a tense silence. He let out a breath. “You are awakened.”

Aloth almost fell over in shock. He’d spent decades repressing Iselmyr-- or trying to. Occasionally she still got the better of him, but she’d never roused any suspicion. Until tonight. He glanced up shyly, eyes red-rimmed with tears. “How did you know?” 

“I speak from personal experience,” came the smooth reply.

Aloth swallowed. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. “Are you awakened as well?” He asked, tentative but hopeful.

The grandmaster smiled thinly, his face half-hidden beneath his masked headdress. He was an older man, human, with a trim gray beard, but Aloth could not make out the rest of his features. “In a way,” he drawled. “The goddess, Woedica, has gifted me with a long memory. A very long memory. I can recall certain details of my past lives.”

“With all due respect, Eminence, that seems more like a curse,” Aloth said, wincing at his own temerity.

The grandmaster pursed his lips in annoyance-- or concern, perhaps. “Has your awakening caused you much strife?” He asked curiously.

Aloth simply nodded.

“Tell me.”

Aloth didn’t know where to begin. He’d been hiding that part of himself for so long. His parents knew of his awakening, of course, but they never spoke on the matter. Thinking back on his childhood, he tried to recount Iselmyr’s first appearance. It was during one of his father’s more abusive episodes. Aloth felt his throat close up as he struggled to recall the exact details of that fateful day, hot tears spilling over.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, ducking his head, his face flushed with shame.

The grandmaster unfolded his hands. “There is no need for that, child,” he said, reaching out to steady Aloth by the shoulder.

Aloth wanted to object. He was fifty years old. He might look young owing to the fact that he was an elf, but he was hardly a child. He opened his mouth to say as much, but the protest died on his lips. Standing in the grandmaster's shadow made him feel very young by comparison, but the man was probably not much older than Aloth, himself. He trembled under the weight of the human’s steady, silver gaze. Watchful, unblinking.

“Your father sounds like a sinful man,” the grandmaster said after a moment, observing Aloth closely. He was still gripping the elf’s shoulder, as if he didn’t trust Aloth to stand on his own two feet.

“I suppose so…” Aloth trailed off. He had called his father many things, but he had never thought to use that word before.

“And the rest of your family?”

Aloth sighed. “I was an only child, and my mother was away for most of my childhood.” He was almost embarrassed to admit this, worried that it might reflect poorly on him. “Not much of a family, all things considered,” he murmured, unconsciously leaning into the grandmaster’s touch.

The grip on his shoulder tightened. “The gods are your family. The Leaden Key is your family. And as grandmaster of the Leaden Key, l can assure you that you are as dear to me as my own flesh and blood. You are all my children.”

Aloth felt a blush warm his cheeks. Of course, the grandmaster didn’t mean what he said, not really, but Aloth appreciated the sentiment all the same. He must’ve been truly starved for affection, he thought to himself, ears pink with embarrassment as he leaned against the older man, clinging to his robes in something resembling a hug.

The grandmaster stood stiffly in place, but he returned the gesture after a moment, sliding an arm around Aloth’s shoulder. The elf melted into the embrace, burying his face in the grandmaster’s chest, breathing in the smell of exotic incense that seemed to emanate from him. Aloth closed his eyes to savor the feeling of being held, a pleasant shiver running down his spine. 

The grandmaster allowed him this brief respite, idly stroking the elf's long, black hair, then said, "There is still the matter of your punishment." Aloth went rigid. He tried to pull away, but the grandmaster tightened his hold on him, growling in in a low voice, "You blasphemed the goddess, Woedica. The queen that was, and still is. For the sake of your own soul, you must repent." 

Aloth exhaled sharply. "I didn't say anything-- it was Iselmyr!" He cried, ghostly pale at the prospect of whatever 'punishment' the grandmaster had in mind for him. Blasphemy was a serious offense, especially among Woedicans, and the man had already threatened to have him whipped. 

"Then I shall punish Iselmyr, as you call her," the grandmaster said, dropping his arms to his sides. 

Aloth fell to his knees, trembling, cursing Iselmyr under his breath. He flinched as the grandmaster reached out a hand, but the man's touch was surprisingly gentle. He cupped Aloth's cheek, tilting his head up. 

"This has been a traumatic day for you," he said, not unkindly. "Therefor, I am willing to postpone your sentence." He interrupted himself, "Forgive me. _Iselmyr's_ sentence. You will not see me for many months. I have business elsewhere, and I will be gone for some time. But make no mistake, _our_ business is not concluded." His gripped Aloth's jaw, blunt nails digging into the elf's soft flesh. "If Iselmyr does not repent, it will be your turn on the rack. I trust you will make her see reason." He straightened up, releasing Aloth at last. 

"Oh," the grandmaster added, pausing as he turned to leave. He stared down at the elf at his feet, his expression as cold and imperious as the goddess he claimed to serve. "And if you think to run away, to renounce your oath to the Leaden Key, know that I will find you-- even if it takes a hundred years. Woedica never forgets... and neither do I." 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something with these two-- three if you count Iselmyr ;)
> 
> apologies for any spelling mistakes


End file.
